


Toretti’s Bedtime Stories

by beachedMermaid



Series: Bobby’s Love Stories [1]
Category: NoPixel, no pixel
Genre: All for the love of Bobby, M/M, Romance, Scars, Toretti goes through A Crisis, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beachedMermaid/pseuds/beachedMermaid
Summary: Bobby was covered in scars. It’s not surprising, given their line of work. He was in his thirties, worked as the Chief of Police in one of the most dangerous cities in the world, and he had a list of enemies that was a mile long. He ended up in the ICU at least once every few months, for everything from car crashes to shoot outs. Toretti had his fair share of scars himself, so he didn’t know why he found Bobby’s scars so… interesting.
Relationships: Bobby Smith/Domenic Toretti
Series: Bobby’s Love Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740415
Kudos: 17





	Toretti’s Bedtime Stories

Bobby was covered in scars. It’s not surprising, given their line of work. He was in his thirties, worked as the Chief of Police in one of the most dangerous cities in the world, and he had a list of enemies that was a mile long. He ended up in the ICU at least once every few months, for everything from car crashes to shoot outs. Toretti had his fair share of scars himself, so he didn’t know why he found Bobby’s scars so… interesting.

He raked his eyes over Bobby’s back as he picked up his shirt off of the empty locker room floor. Typically, Toretti would look away, purposely avoiding looking at him after the first few glances. But tonight, Bobby and he had been on patrol till late, working nonstop. Now, he was waiting for Bobby to get done changing so he could drive him home, and Toretti was distracted. It wasn’t weird, he assured himself. Scars were cool. Manley. He just… wanted to see them. 

Toretti had first noticed Bobby’s scars three weeks ago, when Bobby first started patrolling with him.

“Get used to it Toretti, you're stuck with me until this whole thing with the Southside blows over. For everyone else’s safety.” Bobby said. “You put everyone else in danger by being a target.” Toretti huffed and rolled his eyes, leaning back in the passenger seat, but staying silent. Bobby had been bitchy all day, and as much as he wanted to defend himself, he didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of Bobby’s mood more than he already was. “Hey, don’t take an attitude with me. This is your own doing, you’re the one who decided to run over The Ballas fucking dog.”

“I didn’t decide to do it!” Toretti exclaimed, tired of keeping his mouth shut. “Chief, they commanded the dog to attack the car, I saw it! And I only tapped it, the dog is fine. It’s not like I killed it.” 

“Yeah, thank god you didn’t kill the dog this time, unlike the one you shot fifty times, oh good job Toretti, here’s a goddamn gold metal. I’ll put you on the wall of fame for not killing ANOTHER dog. And what were you doing in the Southside in the first place, huh?” Bobby shot back, taking a sharp turn that gossled Toretti and almost sent him into Bobby’s lap. “Pretty sure I instructed you and you specifically to stay out of the Southside after the last, LAST attack.” Toretti shifted in his seat as Bobby came to a stop at a red light and looked over at him, his eyes hidden behind black glasses. “Maybe I should hire their fucking dog to be an officer, seems like it’s more obedient than you are. Would probably do a better job, too.” Toretti’s eyes widened and he felt his face grow hot with anger and embarrassment. 

“I...I apologize sir.” Toretti said after a moment, taking a deep breath and looking him straight in the eyes. Or, eye. “It won’t happen again.” Bobby looked at him for another long moment before letting out a long sigh. He took out a cigarette and lit it, then started driving again. 

Toretti, on the other hand, kept his gaze on Bobby’s face. He watched his forehead relax slightly as he took a drawl of his cigarette. His eyes shot down as he watched Bobby’s lips close around the cigarette and take a deep breath. He watched the smoke slowly exit through his lips, and realized he was still watching Bobby’s lips. He thought about what it would feel like to press his lips against Bobby’s. To sit closer to Bobby, lean in, and just as he got close enough for their lips to touch, he’d blow a slow stream of smoke at him. 

“So, now you want to obey?” Bobby would say, that fucking smirk painted on his lips. Toretti gulped and let out a shaky exhale as he imagined Bobby raising his hand and… 

Bobby turned back to look at him unexpectedly, and Toretti jumped in surprise, quickly turning his eyes back to the road. But it was too late.

“Why the fuck were you looking at me? Do I have something on my face?” Bobby asked incredulously, looking at his face in the mirror. “Or has my handsome face turned you into an idiot?” 

“W-what? Fuck no, man-uh, Chief. Sir. I just uh…” Toretti rambled frantically, searching for an excuse. There really was no excuse though, what even was that? He’d never thought...Bobby was still glancing over at him, waiting for his response. Toretti looked back, searching his face until his eyes landed on a small, yet deep cut on Bobby’s jaw. “Your scar!”

“My...my scar?” Bobby chuckled with a suggestive eyebrow raise. “You mean the scar over half of my face where I got shot?” Toretti flushed with embarrassment again as he laughed nervously. 

“No! No, I know about that one, I meant the one on your chin? I just never noticed it before. Looks, uh…, looks deep?” Bobby barked a laugh and muttered something too low for Toretti to hear, but before he could ask, Bobby began speaking.

“Ah yes, that scar. Interesting story actually. See, it was the last play, seconds left on the clock. The field was slowly being covered with snow…”

And just like that, what could have been the worst and most embarrassing moment of his life was narrowly avoided by a tiny scar. Toretti listened with surprising interest in the story of the glorious quarterback and the goal post that got too close too quickly. It was better than thinking of whatever the fuck it was he had been thinking of before. Probably just the stress of the job, Toretti rationalized. He just decided to pretend it never happened and never let it happen again.

Until the next week, when it happened again. 

Bobby hated him. He was sure of it. Absolutely despised him. Why else would he force him to crawl through the sewers looking for a bag of drugs that Bobby claimed to see Lang Buddha throw out of his car during the chase. And now that he was in custody, with over thirty blunts, two kilos of crack, and a PD pistol on him, Bobby decided that he wanted to try to find whatever it was that Lang had thrown from the car. 

Bobby was standing behind him, surveying the area. They had been at it for the past hour, and at this point Toretti was pretty sure Bobby was just avoiding paperwork. Not only had Bobby not been actually looking for the evidence, he’d only been making snide or witty remarks about the PD, venting about the officers. It seemed a little unprofessional, but only a few of the comments revolved around him so he decided not to complain too much. 

He had just started in on Malton again and his inability to finish paperwork when an alarm sounded on his phone. Bobby looked at it quickly and sighed in relief. 

“And that,” he said, “would be quitting time. Looks like we couldn’t find it. Oh well.” Toretti looked at him for a long moment, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes, ready to go off but was cut short when he saw a hand outstretched. He could only look at the hand. There were a few small scars littering the top of the blonds hand, but what caught his eye was the crescent shaped scar that rounded his index finger. It was dark and, even though it was obviously old, it caused a pit in Toretti’s stomach. The first thing he thought was wow, that looked like it really hurt. The second was what it would feel like if he, kneeling in front of Bobby, was to raise his lips to the hand and kiss the scar. Then to have the hand caress his jaw and feel the rough calluses against his cheek.

“What, too good to take my hand?” Bobby asked, throwing him out of his thoughts. Toretti coughed, choking on his tongue as he quickly grabbed Bobby’s hand and stood up. He dropped the hand as quickly as he took it and began walking back to the car. He purposely ignored that damn eyebrow raise Bobby gave him and most definitely did not look back down at his hand, remembering the feeling of Bobby’s hand in his. He slammed the door of the car, and kept his eyes downcast on his phone as Bobby got in beside him and began to drive back to the station. 

Toretti stayed quiet for as long as he could before breaking to the heavy need that seemed to be eating him alive. 

“So, uh, Chief. Where’d you get the scar on your hand. The one on your index finger?” Toretti asked, trying to sound natural and relaxed, like it wouldn’t matter if Bobby answered or stayed quiet all the way back. He’d never admit how much he really really wanted to know.

“Huh?” Bobby asked, confused, before looking at his hand. “Oh yeah, that.” He laughed and Toretti ignored the feeling of butterflies he got in his stomach. He was sure ignoring a lot of stuff this week, he thought. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. It was our birthday, Matilda and mine that is. Was our thirteenth birthday, and more than anything, she wanted a trampoline…” 

That night, he got into bed and definitely didn’t imagine a hand with a crescent moon scar caressing and stroking him. He didn’t close his eyes and think about kissing a small scar that rested on a strong, slightly bearded jaw. Definitely didn’t imagine a rough, southern accent asking him if he was ready to be good, asking to be shown just how good he could be. And Toretti most definitely did not imagine laying in a pair of muscular arms, tracing scars and asking for stories in the afterglow.

The next two weeks followed a similar pattern. Every few days, Toretti would notice a new scar on Bobby’s body, imagine a totally not gay scenario where he would get to kiss or touch said scar, and then ask for the story behind the mark. Then, at night, he’d let his fantasy have control. He just wouldn’t think about what it meant. It kept him sane at least. 

Save for his uncontrollable imagination, it was actually really nice talking to Bobby. Sure he still made sarcastic and snarky comments sometimes, and yelled at him when he did something wrong, but it was at least when it was actually his fault now! He didn’t blame him immediately when Francis would cause a fight, and Bobby even stood up for him a few times. People seemed to back off of him, not giving him as much shit as before. 

Now, Toretti was leaning up against the lockers as he watched Bobby slip his shirt off and stretch, wondering just how he’d let this get as far as he had. He watched Bobby’s muscles contort around a long gash that went down his back, with bullet scars freckling here and there. He bit his lip and mentally cursed. 

He wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just because he found excuses to be around Bobby, or talk to Bobby, or talk ABOUT Bobby to Angel or Brian, hell even Frances a few times when he couldn’t help himself, didn’t mean he was obsessed. He just thought Bobby was cool. And smart. And that his scars were like roads he wanted to travel with his fingertips. 

“So,” Bobby began, “I know it’s been a long day, but I’m starving. I know I said I’d take you home, but would you be against stopping for some food first? Don’t have anything back at my place and honestly don’t think I could stay awake to cook anything anyway.” Toretti looked away towards the door before Bobby could turn to see him watching him put his civilian shirt back on.

“Sure, I’m pretty hungry too. How about Thai?” Toretti suggested, following Bobby out of the room.

“Fuck yeah, I love Thai food. And while we eat I’ll tell you the story about the scar on my back you were drooling over.” Bobby said with a laugh, winking at him before walking out the door of the station, waving to Copper and Malton who were just walking in. Toretti sucked in a sharp breath and felt his cheeks go red as Copper patted him on the back with a knowing smirk. He followed Bobby to the car, a small smile on his face.

At least he would get to hear another story tonight.


End file.
